It's not only Christmas... It's Groundhog Day.

So I haven't written anything for a while because life's been busy... But here's a run down of Christmas eve/morning for your amusement (or sympathy, depending on which end of the child-rearing spectrum you fall):

• 4:30pm kids begin begging to go to bed so Santa can visit.
• 5:00pm kids get whiny that they are bored and it makes them think about Santa too much.
• 7:30pm kids hurry and get ready for bed with NO FUSS!!! I tell them not to get out of bed to wake us until their alarm clock says "7" something. I tell Isaiah, "It has to be a 7 or greater to get out of bed."
• 8:00pm They're out like a light. Paulo and I busy ourselves with last minute wrapping, baking, etc.
• 12:30am We're still up and the kids come bounding up the stairs, wild eyed and squealing with excitement, "Did Santa come yet?!?" We intercept on the stairs and send them back to bed. There is much crying and gnashing of teeth. I realize where the confusion lies- the number was greater than 7. I remind Isaiah of how the clock works and that it goes to 1 and then counts up again.
• 1:30am The kids get up again. I don't get myself to bed until 2:15 with all the junk I'm trying to pull off last minute.
• 3:15am The kids get up again.
• 3:45am The kids get up again.
• 4:30am The kids get up again.
• 5:30am The kids get up again. This time I stomp downstairs and say (in my quiet scary voice) through gritted teeth, "Do NOT get out of this bed AGAIN until the light on your alarm clock comes on... DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!?!?" They nod yes and I cheat and set the alarm for 7:30, desperately hoping to squeeze in another 30 minutes of much needed sleep.
• 7:00am The kids get up again. "Mom- it says 7. I see presents under the tree! Santa came!" *sigh*

Lately, Especially...

~Ralph Waldo Emerson

"A child is a curly, dimpled lunatic."

Christmas Red Cake (ala my mom)

Cake:

1/2 c. shortening

1 1/2 c. sugar

2 eggs

1/4 c. red food coloring (2 oz.)

2 Tb. cocoa

1 c. buttermilk

2 1/4 c. sifted cake flour

1 tsp. vanilla

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. vinegar

1 tsp. baking soda

Frosting:

5 Tb. flour

1 c. milk

1 c. sugar

1 c. butter

1 tsp. vanilla

Preheat oven to 350. Grease and flour (or use cut parchment paper) two 8" round cake pans. Cream shortening, sugar, and eggs in a mixing bowl. Make a paste of cocoa and food coloring, and blend into shortening mixture. Add buttermilk to mixture alternately with flour and salt. Add vanilla. Combine together the baking soda with vinegar and carefully blend into the cake batter (do not beat). Pour into cake pans and bake 24-30 minutes. When completely cooled, split each layer in half. Prepare frosting by combining flour, milk, and sugar in a saucepan over med. heat. Heat, stirring constantly until thick. Remove from heat and cool completely. Cream butter and vanilla together. Add to cooled mixture and mix completely. Frost top of each layer and sides of cake with frosting. Enjoy and repeat every year!

What a Wonderful World...

A flock of birds swooping and soaring in unison over a harvested field,
a cheery purple door on a simple old 1930s house,
my littlest son's wrinkly soggy thumb,
a deli counter lady with an infectious smile and twinkly eyes,
a big brother beaming with pride at the fact he made his little brother giggle.
Life is good.

Top ten funniest things my boys have said lately...

10. Sammy: I want uncle-cado on mine. (avacado)
9. Isaiah: Dude, it was sweeeet. He had to go through the booty trap and then he almost got attacked by a mommy. (He also refers to "nissles")
8. Sammy: Turn me up-slide-down!
7. Isaiah: Does this take thriple A? (as in batteries)
6. Sammy: I see the American round! (merry-go-round)
5. Sammy: Can I have a he-weed? (took me along time to figure this one out: kiwi)
4. Sammy: See my hat?!? I'm Kid-diana Jones! (He thinks that's the actual name)
3. Sammy: (Upon recieving a "bug vacuum" for his birthday) I'm sucker-up-bug-Sammy. Sorry, Dad, but I'm gonna suck up all your bones and balls and blood, 'cause you're a bug.
2. Isaiah: Dad, why don't you have a list? (Dad: What do you mean?) You know, like Craig?
1. Isaiah: (To his brother, eating a mint) You can only have one of those a day, Sam, 'cause those are made in China.

Things I've Done

To participate just copy and paste in your own blog, and bold all of the things you have done. Happy discoveries!

1. Started your own blog
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to Disneyland
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm at sea
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch-hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance (no, but we should've)
47. Had your portrait painted
48. Gone deep sea fishing
49. Seen the Sistine Chapel in person
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone
78. Been on a speeding motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Read the entire Bible
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous
92. Joined a book club
93. Lost a loved one
94. Had a baby
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee

Super Yummy Salmon Chowder

I tweaked this recipe from a mommy-group cookbook in my town. I'd give due credit to the original recipe author, but I don't know her or how she would feel about me putting her name on here- so just thank "that other mommy" for this really yummy, quick, and nutritious recipe. I've made it 3 times and it's a huge hit at our house...

• 1 pint canned salmon (*no self respecting Alaskan fisherman's wife would used commercially canned nasty pink salmon- so I substitute and use left-over flaked grilled Copper River red salmon and add extra chicken broth in place of liquid from can)


• 1/2 med. onion, chopped


• 2 stalks celery, sliced


• 1 clove minced garlic


• 2 T. butter


• 1 large potato, diced


• 2 carrots, diced


• 2 1/2 c. chicken broth


• 1 tsp. salt


• 1/2 tsp. dried thyme leaves (I used fresh from my garden this summer... yummy!)


• 1/4 tsp. pepper


• 3/4 c. chopped broccoli


• 1 can evaporated milk (13 oz.)


• 1 can creamed corn (8.5 oz)


• minced parsley

Drain salmon, reserving liquid; flake. Saute onion, celery, and garlic in butter. Add potatoes, carrots, reserved salmon broth, chicken broth, and seasonings. Simmer, covered, for 20 minutes or until veggies are nearly tender. Add broccoli and cook additional 5 minutes. Add flaked salmon, evaporated milk, and corn. Heat through and sprinkle with parsley. Serve with crusty bread- yum yum.

How to be a Cruel Parent- Part II

Never say yes to anything. I inherited this tendency from my own mean mother. It took an entire childhood of studying this ancient dialect to get it down pat and be fluent at it myself. So allow me to translate for you so that you can inflict this upon your own children. It's the least I can do.

Take this simple question: "Mom, can I go bowling with so-and-so?" Hmmm... seems straight forward, right? WRONG! Pay attention, people. "No," of course, means no. But any other response to the request gets a little more complicated. For instance, there's "we'll see," which means Yes, but I don't feel like consenting at this exact moment and if you hound me about it I'll eventually say no. "Maybe" means Yes, but I'm going to think of something to make you do first, such as clean your room. "Let me talk to Dad first" means I can't make up my mind whether it's a good idea or not, so I'll let your permissive father say yes and then he can get the blame when you act like a spoiled brat later and I won't have to feel guilty for it. And then of course, there's "I guess," which is as close as a mean mommy ever gets to actually saying ye... ye... ye... the Y-word.

Your personal safety is of utmost concern. How long could you survive chained to a bunk bed with a velociraptor?

I could survive for 32 seconds chained to a bunk bed with a velociraptor

Created by Bunk Beds.net

I want to eat him up.

I understand where that expression comes from. I look at all the rollie-pollies (I mean, really- there are like 40 gazillion rolls on that squishy little leg) and I just want to nibble on his neck and blow raspberries on the Buddha belly. Just in case you think Mean Mommy has lost her grip and gives giant lollipops as a regular meal, don't worry. I have a reputation to uphold and children to torture, after all. Jake is a year older now, and has maintained the same weight (32 lbs at 8 months and still the same at 21 months) but grown so much in height that he's lost a lot of his baby blubber. Now if I could only say the same for me. And something tells me it's not quite as endearing. *sigh* One day at a time...

My 'puter caught fire.

No joke. I was sitting there sorting email when the screen went black. No blue screen of death, no nothing. Just as I was beginning to get indignant (I take it personally even though I don't have computer skillz), I saw smoke out of the corner of my eye. The power unit inside our computer had caught fire and it was pouring smoke from under the desk. So I did what any sane, rational, calm person would do. I flapped my hands up and down and stuttered for a good 15 seconds before I blurted out "Fire, fire, fire!" And then Paulo looked at me all smiling and confused-like for another good 15 seconds before he realized I was serious. From that point on, though, he was a blur. He hustled pretty fast for a guy who just had surgery on his spine. Learn from us, people. Don't leave your computer running all day! And for goodness sake, definitely don't leave it running at night! I used to leave ours on all day and check it periodically- even leave it running when I left the house for errands. Can you imagine if I'd not been sitting right there? And our whole loft/art studio/ office area? Talk about a fire trap! Our file drawer was a mere 2 inches under the computer. This is on the heels of a fire this summer in a house belonging to some acquaintances of ours down the street- their clothes dryer caught fire and literally melted. So be fire safe! I mean- I have a thing for firemen and all- but not that much of a thing. Having them walk through my house to check our alarming CO detector and seeing my dirty laundry on the floor was humiliating enough for one year, thankyouverymuch. At any rate- save the earth, cut your electric bill, save your home and maybe your babies lives, and prevent your hubby from having to piece together a new computer by turning off your computer unless you are using it.

Soul Mate.

Why do I love him?

His smiley, crinkly eyes when he laughs

His "Kid Freeze" funky dance moves (he's a break dancing extraordinaire)

His dimples (and the fact that he passed them on to all 3 of our boys)

His spontanaity and sense of adventure

His little boy charm

His grown up sense of responsibility

His dedication to his family

His ability to understand me and patience with me, despite our opposite-ness

His attempts to slow dance with me in the aisles of Costco or wherever else the mood strikes

His macho "You better not mess with my woman" attitude when there are jack-asses nearby

His giggle

His muscles

His dedication to his career and knowledge of science

His inventiveness

His wild imagination

His romantic inclinations

His embrace

His ability to cook (and I mean the man can cook)

His inability to hold a grudge while stripping me of my ability to do so

His duck dance with his boxers in a wedgie (guess you'd have to be there)

His hand holding mine through 50+ combined hours of labor

His neck being cinched by my pulling and twisting his collar during 50+ hours of labor

His diaper changing abilities

His ability to know when I've reached the end of my rope

His ability to take over when said end of rope is reached

His blend of vulnerability and strength

His pampering me with bubble baths and candle light

His willingness to search the magazine racks for a Mary Engelbreit magazine when I'm sick or cranky, followed by a cell phone call: "You don't have this one yet, do you?"

(but there's no purse holding or tampon buying for him, no indeed)

His refusal (even though I want to hear it just once) to say he'd swim through shark infested waters to bring me a lemonade ("That's just stupid" he says, "unless they were sand sharks- then I'd do it.")

His enjoyment of playing with his children

His unending efforts to be the dad he always wanted

His undying love for me

I think I'll keep him.

How to be a Cruel Parent- Part I

One of the most deliciously wretched things you can do to your child is require an early bedtime. Most of the time I put my children to bed at 7:30 during the week, so that they are asleep by 8:00. My oldest complains they miss all the "good shows" and commercials on t.v., none of the other parents make their kids go to bed early on school nights, and all I want to do anyway is have quiet time (say that in a snotty tone to get the real effect) and a date with Dad. Early bedtimes. Just another way to be a mean mommy.

Greener Days

I'm not ready to face winter yet. And since it snowed today (and stuck), I thought I'd revisit my garden pictures from this summer. See?!? I'm not Mrs. Brown Thumbs after all. Other than forgetting to thin out the plants, spinach that bolted before I knew to pick it, and having a crummy summer with little to no sun, it did pretty well. We ended up with edible/usable lettuce, peas, beans, dill, onions, beets, carrots, and cabbage. This garden shot shows its progress about halfway through summer. But the gargantuous cabbage and Chorus Line carrots are from the end of summer harvest. Next year my goal is to try lasagna gardening and see how it does.

Lord Help Me.

I will not beat my child.

I will not beat my child.

I will not beat my child.

...But this little punk is going into solitary confinement.

With a toybox, some trash bags and a vaccuum cleaner.

Lucky for him, he's cute.

I'd be Fabulous, Daaaahlink.

I don't dress up for Halloween anymore. But if I did feel in a costumey mood, I'd want to wear a hat. You know, just to run down to the grocery store for some milk or whatever. Or maybe to my son's parent-teacher conference. Unfortunately I was born in the wrong era. But if I were a hat wearing kind of person, I'd wear one of these fabu noggin covers...

The first three are from ladydianehats.com Just in case you want to order for your next tea and crumpets/bunco social.

And this one is from ahead4hats.co.uk I think it'd be perfect for mowing the lawn. It would make all the neighbors envious. Maybe we should all just start wearing them and then we'd be all be in style. They are seriously cute. I say my sister goes first.

A Cherished Visitor

I don't buy into the idea of ghosts being lost between worlds, angry, vengeful, mourning and skulking around dark corners and hallways, whooooooing away. Nor do I believe they are Casper-like, friendly little do-gooder spirits, looking for ways to lend a helping hand to the living. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't believe in ghosts at all. I believe in the Holy Ghost. I believe the Holy Ghost guides us, helps us, dwells in our hearts, gives us words to pray. But as far as "ghosts" go, I believe the dead no longer have use for our realm. They are in their places of eternity, possibly observing us, but more than likely having a great big ol' party up above, and getting ready to throw the confetti when we join them.

But what about those who never really had a chance to live, except in the dark peaceful quiet of their mothers' wombs? There is a little ghost who visits me sometimes. She wasn't done with our world, and we never had time to cuddle and chat. She formed miraculously within me for a few short months, she grew me into a mother, and then was taken away. Other than the ebb and flow of emotion she felt through my body, the warmth of my hands protectively cradling her, the lull of my voice and my heartbeat she felt through vibrations in water, she never knew of earth. It's been 8 years since she left and I've had my chance to grieve. I find peace in the fact that while I never had a chance to hold her, she's been rocked and embraced in the arms of Jesus himself. I've thought of how she's there with my grandparents and other loved ones, laughing at stories of my childhood calamities, learning all about the people she came from and basking in the presence of our Creator.

Every once in a while, though, I feel her here with me. I wonder if God gives a special privilege to these little ones- a kind of "visitation pass" to leave campus once in a while. You know, to have a little glimpse of what their earthly experience would have been like? Sometimes when I'm browsing the racks of a Gymboree store I'll glance up from the boy section and instantly spot a little polka dot sun dress or a soft Easter sweater across the store, and without thinking logically, realize that it would be perfect on Hannah. I can almost feel her tugging on my jacket to go over and touch the fabric. Or when my due date comes around each year, I feel a little bit of warmth, like a hug, that isn't due to the heat vents kicking on or a ray of sun through the window. It's accompanied by a sense of reassurance that it's still a day to celebrate. Every now and then I feel her in the living room, bouncing on the couch cushions and giggling at her brothers' antics. It's not that I can see her there, or even feel the sensations of the cushion moving. It's more of a day dream that catches me off guard. I'm not even aware that I'm seeing her until my conscious mind takes back control and she's instantly gone...until next time.

I didn't realize, when I was pregnant that first time, how common miscarriage is. I never imagined I'd have that experience to reflect on for the rest of my life. My doctors told me that 1 in 4 pregnancies ends this way and that it is "nature's way of taking care of abnormalities." They gave me the option of having the "fetal tissue" scraped out with a D&C or going home to wait for my body to take care of business. Some well meaning friends and family even told me it was "God's will." It seemed that everyone wanted to help by trying to make the loss less of a loss, to make it more sterilized, practical, non-human, or even a mistake to be corrected. The more they discussed how common it was, the more alone I felt in the experience. Instinctively, protectively, I took back the reigns 8 years ago. I left the hospital and its antiseptic smell. I cried buckets until my eyes were swollen shut, I sat on the couch in my robe for days with no shower, I drew the curtains shut and didn't eat. After weeks went by, when I felt my body cramp up and the cruelty of a labor for no baby, I held up my chin and got through it. The hardest part was not the cramping pain, but the emptiness that followed. It was both physical and emotional. I had a body that wanted desperately to hold on to a baby that couldn't grow. I had a heart that wanted to grieve a baby that needed to be mothered. Have you ever been to a funeral for an unborn baby? Unless it was your own, you haven't. They have an attendance of one. But as painful and lonely as it was, I said goodbye on my own terms.

I don't know what to make of it when I see the image of a "ghost" in a movie preview. The intent is for the viewer to feel pangs of terror. My brain instantly converts the image to one that is laughable- a white sheet controlled by a puppeteer behind a curtain. Kind of like the Wizard of Oz when he gets found out for who he really is and all the mystery fizzles away. Because I know a ghost who visits me, and she's not a vessel of terror and angst. She's a whisper, a flood of warmth, a soft brush against my cheek. She's come to see her mother, to hold my hand, to cuddle against me while I sleep, to join in on her brothers' fun and listen to her daddy sing. She's here to tell me that she misses me, but there's an amazing place where she'll be waiting to welcome me. It's her perfect, eternal home. She's there with so many other little ones, who come to visit their mothers once in a while. Mothers know all about ghosts.

*This post was entered in Scribbit's October Write-Away contest. If you'd like to enter, please visit Scribbit.

Reality Bites.

Had my annual exam today... After stepping on the scale and flashing the nurse for my exam, I felt just like Barbie. Well, this Barbie anyway.

Girls Have Cooties. I Repeat. Girls. Have. Cooties.

Isaiah was sitting on the couch this morning during Saturday cartoons. All of a sudden he yelled, "Aaaaaah! My eyes are burning!!! My eyes are burning!!!" I looked over to find him pressing his hands to his eyes like he had some kind of sudden affliction causing him searing pain. "What's the matter?!?" I asked, alarmed. "My eyes! My eyes!" he continued to moan. My mom brain instantly recognized that this was not real pain and that he was pulling my leg. I glanced at the t.v. and saw there was a commercial playing for a Barbie hair bead gadget. I asked him if that was the cause of his searing eye pain. His eyes peeked out and hands moved slightly up to the eyebrows to check the t.v. and see if the offending ad was still playing. Then he looked over at me and nodded yes, his face looking as if he'd just whiffed a rotten egg. Girls might have cooties for now, but I'm guessing he won't have searing eye pain from all things girly when he's a teenager!

Well, I was tagged by my sister, so here you go.

I'm supposed to tag 7 others, but since I already did this via email, I won't pass it along again. Just be tagged if you want to! :)

1. Where is your cell phone? purse

2. Where is your significant other? asleep

3. Your hair color? carrots

4. Your mother? sweet

5. Your father? Sisu

6. Your favorite thing? massage

7. Your dream last night? blank

8. Your dream/goal? gallery

9. The room you're in? piles

10. Your hobby? painting

11. Your fear? loss

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? apprentice

13. Where were you last night? dishes

14. What you're not? lazy

15. One of your wish-list items? genie

16. Where you grew up? Alaska

17. The last thing you did? parented

18. What are you wearing? jammies

19. Your TV? Satan

20. Your pet? flushed

21. Your computer? mystery

22. Your mood? sleepy

23. Missing someone? Ali

24. Your car? comfy

25. Something you're not wearing? thong

26. Favorite store? fabric

27. Your summer? blip

28.Love someone? lucky-for-him

29. Your favorite color? yellow

30. When is the last time you laughed? Paulo

31. Last time you cried? likewise

Pickin' People

Pickin' Place

We went blueberry picking at Hatcher Pass with some friends this summer and took advantage of the late harvest from the cool temperatures. Paulo and I hadn't been picking since we were kids and it was the first time for our own children. It's one of the best memories I have from this summer. We picked until our hands and the seats of our pants were stained purple and it turned to dusk. Jacob was the "Great Blonde Bear" of the Matanuska-Susitna Valley, foraging for blueberries from my bowl. He ate them faster than I could pick them, the little stinker. We're looking forward to making blueberry muffins for breakfast some frosty cold winter morning. Looking out at the mountains surrounding us, I remembered why I love living in Alaska. I think this land is God's masterpiece.

A Fair Time

Our boys love the state fair and the begging for rides began the minute they saw the equipment being set up three weeks before it started. Only 11 1/2 more months of asking when they can go again!

First Day of First Grade

New backpack... $15.00

Spiffy "guitar" shirt... $18.00

Buzz cut and freckles... priceless!

Vintage Children's Fabrics

I came across the cutest website today called WarmBiscuit, through another blogger (Scribbit), that has really neat vintage children's fabrics. We have such a puny selection in Alaska- pretty much limited to 2 stores that move their inventory very slowly and don't offer much variety. But this site is so fun! My personal favorites are the Retro Rocket and the Dick and Jane series. They even have oilcloth (it would make a great tote bag for the van!). I started sewing this summer and now I am itchin' to make some things for my boys and my nieces and nephews. My youngest niece might have to have a wardrobe update via Auntie. Wouldn't a little pullover dress or apron made out one of the fabrics below be so cute? This is how I get my "pink" fix (aka I must have something that does not involve Star Wars, Superheroes, Dinosaurs or Matchbox cars). Check it out- it's sweet.

http://warmbiscuit.com/fabricsall1.html

Ah Ha!

As a coincidence, I found this article on "the search for rational voters." This offers an interesting perspective on how the perceptions of voters influence our national policies...

http://www.newsweek.com/id/158224/page/1

Just for the Record.

I do not care what Barack Obama's middle name is, or what color his skin is, or that his pastor is distrustful or angry towards whites, or that he is endorsed by Oprah, or that he used the term "lipstick on a pig."

I do not care if John McCain dated a stripper and drove too fast 50 years ago, or that his wife's hair is considered "too shelacked" or that he appeared to be checking Palin out or sleeping while reading her teleprompter.

I do not care if Sarah Palin was runner up in a pageant or that she doesn't like Harry Potter books or that she enjoys mooseburgers or that she posted the jet on ebay, but it ended up selling privately. I don't even care if she ousted the commissioner for not firing her deadbeat and dangerous brother-in-law. I don't care about Todd Palin's DUI from 20+ years ago.

I don't care about Joe Biden's... hey? How come I don't know the dirt on Joe? Never mind!

What I care about is the fact that my husband must use (as opposed to wants to use) public transportation to commute to work- and it adds an extra 1 1/2 hours a day that he can't be with his children, because gas prices are so high we can't afford for him to drive every day. Our only other option is to move closer to his work, in a town with more congestion, more crime, more traffic accidents, and less of the things we enjoy where we are.

I care that our country is teetering towards relying solely on foreign oil. Energy controls our lives- the small day to day things like the cost of a gallon of milk, as well as the ability for an airline to stay in business, or the security of our nation. I care that I live in a state that is full of untapped oil. And also the fact that we are awfully close to Russia, China, and North Korea, and our relationships with these countries is- well, not so good.

I wonder how long it will take for our country to begin exploring, developing, using alternative energy sources so that we don't have to use as much oil.

I care that we are in a precarious position being a one income family and that I may have to go back to work and dump my children in subsidized day care for 10 hours a day in order to pay our bills. And we're not talking iTunes fees, hair extensions and a new car- more like a 22% increase in natural gas and expensive groceries and $4.26 for a gallon of gas (and that's after prices dropped).

I care about my friend's son, diagnosed with cancer at age 6, who will not be eligible for medical insurance when he turns 18. Or the fact that, although she wanted to quit her job to spend time with her son and care for him during his treatment, she couldn't afford the $5,000 per month premium for carryover insurance until her husband's insurance kicked in.

I worry about my 3 sons and whether or not they will be shipped off to war in one of a dozen places that we are currently battling or will battle with in the near future. Are we fighting these wars for the right reasons? Are we spread too thin? Do we have a president who really understands and supports why we are there in the first place?

I wonder how long our children will be stuck in a mediocre education system, where we have to cross our fingers for our kids to win the lottery for the school of our choice, or we have to hope that the latest bond passes for our kid's school that will buy them a new roof to repair the one that leaks on their desk. Will our kids recieve the education they need to function in the career of their dreams? Will we be able to afford skyrocketing college costs to get them there?

These are the things that plague my mind as a mother and a wife and a citizen of the United States of America. I may not have a degree in political science or history or law. I may not keep up with all the latest news. But I do have a desire to tell the media "SHUT UP! WE'RE NOT THAT STUPID!" So I'm on a mission. It may be pointless, being only one individual. But my mission is this... To stop listening to the news when they circulate the same insignificant story for 72 straight hours. To trash (or recycle!) the newspapers and magazines that analyze to the nth degree the things that don't matter and yet ignore the important issues. To ignore websites and blogs and emails that talk about things like "faked pregnancies" and "anti-Christ in disguise." It's not that these things don't deserve some bit of thought. It's just that they don't deserve all the brain cells that are being wasted on them at the expense of the bigger, more relevant ideas. I'll be waiting to hear the candidates speak, in their own words (so long as you can call pre-written speeches by others "their own words") during upcoming interviews and debates before I make my final decision. So join me, people! Let's have a common sense revolution! :)

Dear Bristol...

Dear Bristol,

I don't know you personally, but I was a 17 year old once, too. I remember how hard it was to feel confident in my own skin. I always felt I was a little bit less than everyone else; I wasn't a straight A student, I wasn't particularly athletic, I wasn't super popular or the prettiest girl in school, I wasn't the most talented or voted the most likely to succeed. I thought my legs were too pale, my tummy too flabby, my nose too big, my essays not eloquent enough, my car- oh, wait. No car. I worried if this boy liked me or if that boy didn't, and if my zero on my last math assignment would get found out by my parents. If I could relive my teenage years all over again, well... I wouldn't. Ever.

And so I cannot imagine what must be going on in your beautiful head. The normal high school angst that helps us all grow into the adults we need to be has been replaced by what must be an agonizing sense of criticism and guilt regarding your own "failures" as well as your mother's "inability to control" you. Today I read a statement in a magazine that quoted, "It is possible that the entire GOP has just been toppled by a 17 year old." Such blind and ugly blame to place on such a young girl. You have cameras capturing your every expression, outfit, flash of emotion, awkward attempt to hold hands with your boyfriend and protect your growing belly. All for the benefit of millions of people to speculate on your mother's ability to parent and lead a nation. Or your own ability to turn a moment of weakness and poor judgement into a life that is carved from the context of your faith. Like wolves feeding on a moose calf carcass- everyone wants a bloody piece of the story.

I remember hearing about "spotlight syndrome" where someone becomes overly and unnecessarily self-conscious, thinking that everyone around them is focusing on their short comings. Well- you unfortunately and literally do have the spotlight on you right now. Is this your mother's fault? No. I believe John McCain and your mother honestly thought that Americans would be more concerned with our families having homes foreclosed on them or losing jobs, or our young men and women losing limbs and lives overseas, or the kid down the street who has cancer and whose parents are going to have to declare bankruptcy to pay his medical bills... I guess they were wrong. All Americans want is a quick fix, like a druggie- to feel they do life better than you, or your mother, or her party. That if they were in charge- perfection would reign. They are searching for the speck in your eye.

All this hits at a time when you should be embraced and nurtured by your loved ones and your community. It should be a time to get serious and make hard decisions about your relationship with your child and his/her father and what your adulthood will bring. Will you have an epidural or not and who will be your birth coach? You should have the time to sit and ponder whether you will breast feed and how to balance that with taking classes. Who will babysit and throw you a shower? Where will you and Levi live and how can you best support yourselves? Instead, you are left worrying about what millions think of you and your young love, what millions think of your mother and her parenting and whether or not you let her down and ruined her career- the first potential Republican woman vice president. You don't need the weight of the world on your shoulders- you need to be lifted up.

Let me shoot some straight talk with you... You're gonna have to square up your shoulders, stick your chin out, and be proud of who you are. You know all those self righteous, stuck up kids at school that sneer when you walk by? Or the ones who throw litter out their car windows and shoot up highway signs? Or the ones who turn everything into a joke, even when it's important? Or the ones who gossip about their friends behind their backs? Or the ones who use other people's mistakes as grounds to humiliate them? Well- they rarely change. They just become adults who continue to do the same thing. And what you get is a person who wants to use your pregnancy as a chance to tout their other political party with its better sex education stance (as if it's only possible for teens from conservative or religious families to get pregnant); You get people who claim to be open minded and educated on the issues, but stop talking about solving big problems in order to chat about the latest supposed conspiracy in a blog or tabloid and pass it along like wild fire; You get people who want to see the ugliest thing they can find in any situation.

I'm sorry you have to find this out so young and in such a big way. But I hope and pray that it makes you a stronger, more resilient mother who can stick up for your child... Like your own mom. I hope it helps you find your calling in life and to seek out those who love you. I hope it bolsters your faith and allows you to feel the true power of Christ's unfaltering love and forgiveness for you. I hope it helps you to develop a strong sense of confidence and peace with who you are. My own grandmother had my dad when she was only 16, and she led a wonderful life and was greatly loved and admired by her children and grandchildren.... I wish the same for you, and as a mom, I am so proud of your decision to nurture your baby.

He gives beauty for ashes, strength for fears, gladness in mourning, peace for despair... Adapted from Isaiah 61

Hang in there, kiddo.

Love, the other Sarah

Writer's Block...

ABC Tag
A - Attached or Single? Happily married!
B - Best Friend? My hubby (and Alisyn and Tori and Kristy and numerous other great friends)
C - Cake or Pie? Yes, both, thank you.
D - Day of choice? Saturday (r&r)
E - Essential item? Burt's Bees peppermint chapstick
F - Favorite color? Soft sunshiney yellow or refreshing springy new-leaf green
G - Gummy bears or worms? Bears- I like to bite their heads off. And they remind me of Germany.
H - Hometown? Palmer, Alaska- "Alaska at its Best!"
I - Favorite Indulgence? Massages (good ones), bubble baths in silence with a new magazine
J - January or July? JULY! Outdoor time, sunshine around the clock, no schedule... ahhhhh...
K - Kids? 3 boys and one angel I'll meet some day
L - Life isn't complete without? Hugs
M - Marriage Date? February 12th
N - Number of Bros & Sis? 1 sister, 2 brother-in-laws, 2 sister-in-laws
O - Oranges or Apples? Oranges (I'm allergic to apples, darn it)
P - Phobias and Fears? Spiders, my family being hurt
Q - Quote? What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Creator calls the butterfly.
R - Reason to smile? Grubby hugs and strawberry breath kisses
S - Season of choice? Summer- sunshine and warmth, long days
T - Tag? Anyone who reads this.
U - Unknown fact about me? I want to learn to salsa and swing dance like a pro.
V - Vegetable? Squash (any kind)- yummy.
W - Worst habit? Staying up too late.
X - X-Ray? Only on my teeth, and an MRI on my brain (It's all good- except for that giant space for rent sign)
Y - Your favorite food? Homemade bread
Z - Zodiac sign? Stop, yield, one way, right turn only, speed limit 20, no entry, huh?

Goofy Google Experimentation

I just read a blog that passed on a little Google game that is apparently quite popular, according to what I came up with. You are supposed to type in your first name and then the word "needs" and you'll find a list of all that is necessary to make your life complete (well, maybe not, but it's still fun)...

So here's what Sarah needs...
1. a cold shower
2. a date (mentioned numerous times)
3. your vote
4. answers (Yes, Lord.)
5. some love (that's why I need the cold shower, I guess)
6. more love lyrics
7. you
8. a wii
9. her man to lean on (how true)
10. to kick him in the nuts (there are days... nah, just kiddin')

There must be some truth to it all... kind of like horoscopes. Haha.

Mean Mama Mia!

I went to see Mama Mia last night with my mom, sister and friends. I laughed so hard I almost peed my pants. We left the theater making up our own lyrics to ABBA songs- something about not wanting licorice and wanting ice cream instead? If you haven't seen this movie, you MUST go. It is definitely a chick flick, but some men might enjoy it, too. Nobody could resist laughing at the red sock flower thingy scene. :) Sing it with me, now:

You-ou can tyyyyype...

You-ou can scooooold...

Wash all the laundry and fo-o-ooold...

Whoah-oh-oh

Dancing Queen, Mean Mommy, you are Thirty Threeeeee!

Another Fabulous Quote...

It is a mystery why adults expect perfection from children. Few grown-ups can get through a whole day without making a mistake. ~Marcelene Cox

Perspective

My 6 year old nephew came running inside the other day to show us the latest find he and his cousins uncovered in the yard. "Mom! Look! I found a Hairy Butt Flower!" It's really a budding poppy- but in Brandon's mind it was a Hirsuiticus Glutimus Crackipod- or something like that.

*sigh*... The sweetest shoes ever.

I'm the opposite of a label snob. I shop at Wal-mart and thrift stores and garage sales. But these make me want to take out a loan or sell a kidney for a pair of shoes. How cute are these? They have poppies all over them. If you ever see these Minolo Blahnik shoes at a garage sale, let me know, okay?!?

A Wonderful Quote...

There is no way to be a perfect mother

and a million ways to be a good one.

~Jill Churchill

We interrupt this blog for a word from our sponsor...

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder. No more itch and no more scratch. No more junk and no more funk. It's Anti-Monkey Butt Powder. Now that I use Anti-Monkey Butt Powder, I'm as fresh as a daisy and smooth as a baby's butt, too. How did I ever do without it? Available now in a Sportsman's Warehouse near you. Only $5.99, plus shipping and handling. Available in badonka-donk baby powder or junk-in-the-trunk jasmine.

Global Warming... the Great Conspiracy

It's been the absolute pits for weather this summer in southcentral Alaska. We've had record amounts of cool temperatures and rain, and even with our "midnight sun" during the summer months, it's been gloomy and gray with all the constant clouds. I think we've only had 2 days over 75 degrees and it's been in the upper 40s and low 50s forever. Without much of a summer it kind of feels like we've had 12 months of fall, winter, and then fall again (22 months if you count this coming fall and winter)! UGH! HARUMPH! #&*%^$!!!

Okay- enough of my grumbling and boo-hooing. I've been trying to be optimistic about it and take advantage of this time to work on some projects indoors. I've made aprons, sewn curtains for almost every room in our house, and painted/redecorated our bedroom (a.k.a. love nest). I've still got lots and lots of ideas, things that need to be finished, and things that need to be started. I'll post some pictures after a bit. In the mean time, here's a glimpse of some summer fun our kidlets had on Independence Day- one of our very rare sunny days of the chilly summer of 2008! (The girlies are family-friends-and-with-any-luck-future-daughters-in-law, Abby and Lilly)

Paulo dubs these: "Ghetto waterslide"

Moniker Abuse

Oh, heck no. There's being a mean mommy... and then there's just cruelty. I cannot believe this trend. If you think my kids have slightly unusual (I prefer "less common") names, you should see this.

http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article1468610.ece

A Modern Version of "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother"

This morning my two oldest boys were playing a two-person monster truck racing video game, sitting side by side in chairs with cords dangling to the boob tube. I braced myself for the inevitable squabbles and whining between a "big boy" and a preschooler who are on way different playing levels and cannot EVER seem to get along lately. Instead, I overheard this conversation...

Sammy: (Helpless) Zaya! Help me! Help me! I'm stuck, Zaya! Come get me!

(A split screen shows Isaiah's truck racing around the track and Sammy's truck sitting motionless on the side of the road, "stuck" in a guard rail. Not surprising, since preschoolers aren't usually adept at using video game controllers.)

Isaiah: (Urgently) Hold on, Sammy. Zaya's coming! Hold on!

(He always refers to himself in the third person when he's feeling heroic.)

Sammy: Oh, no! Zaya, hurry! Help me!

Isaiah: Here Zaya comes, Sammy! Just hold on! Zaya's coming to save you!

(The split screen shows Isaiah's truck zooming around the track back to Sammy's location. Isaiah backs his truck up and then steps on the virtual gas pedal, ramming Sammy's truck out of the guard rail and back onto the track.)

Sammy: Yesssssss! You saved me!

Isaiah: Zaya has to go now! Hurry, Sammy!

Sammy: I'm twying! I can't know how to do it!

(Isaiah proceeds to lap Sammy and then ram his truck into Sammy's, sending the hurling fireball off the track and ending the game.)

Isaiah: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! I destroyed you!!!

Sammy: (forlorn) Oh, maaaaaaan. *sigh*

Isaiah: Sorry, Sam. I thought you were someone else.

Sammy: You're supposed to cwash the purple twuck.

Isaiah: Oh.

Inconceivable! Incontinent! Inconvenient!

When I was a stoodent teacher, won of my biggest pet peaves was when an educater would send out a newsletter too parents and it would be full of typos. You would be suprized by how many people goof up common words or terms. Too, to, two, their, they're, there, etc. Teechers are no acception- but we don't want to have to wonder if our childs teachers is capable of correcting there work. They should of double checked. So since this seems to be pet peeve weak for Mean Mommy (see my whining about back seat artists below)- hear's a great article to check out. (Thanks, Tori!)



http://encarta.msn.com/encnet/Features/Columns/?article=EmbarrassingWriting&GT1=27004



Now we can all check areselves for correct grammer and spelling- and can laugh at others, too. To. Two. Hurray for the Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar (SPOGG)!



http://www.spogg.org/



*Mean Mommy reserves the right to disregard any and all comments that will be made on how many spelling and grammar mistakes she's made in her blog, both intentional and accidental. I am, after all, perfect. My sister says so.

The Anaphylaxis Chronicles...

Well, most of you know that during the last two months, in between end of school functions and blog posts and t-ball games and house keeping and bill paying and cooking and boob-tube watching and picking my nose, we've had quite the eventful and frightening time with Mr. Jakers. He had developed this little habit of wheezing. Sometimes it was just a little whistling breathing and sometimes it was an all out, tummy muscles squeezing to get air, low oxygen rate, limp baby kind of wheezing. So we've had three emergency room runs, two unecessary runs of meds for pneumonia, a laryngoscopy/bronchoscopy, and a million different theories on what's ailing him, but yesterday we finally got our answer: asthma and food allergies. Jake is severely allergic to milk, eggs, and peanuts. Each time we'd gone to the ER he'd actually been experiencing anaphylaxis- and it was the steroid treatments that were enabling him to get better until they wore off and we'd start the same routine all over again. And there I was, not knowing, and giving him scrambled eggs and peanutbutter sandwiches- sometimes even right after an ER visit or a doctor's appointment as a quick and easy meal for him. I don't have munchausen syndrome, I promise!!!

So today was the first day of knowing and being able to have a sense of control over his health and how to care for him. The only problem- all day I felt frustrated and scared and a little bit self-pitying, thinking what in the world do I feed this kid?!? I know what not to feed him, but it's rather difficult to figure out what he can have. It would be so simple if labels simply said "milk" or "egg" or "peanut," but instead it's "casien" or "albumin" or "hydrolized vegetable protein" along with dozens of other descriptors that all mean the same thing: Danger. And did you know that refrigerated chicken and beef stocks contain milk products? And even saltine crackers can be cross contaminated with milk? And pastas that don't contain egg can still be contaminated with egg protein from the factory? And that even the term "caramel flavoring" means it contains milk? Since we don't know how he'll react, we have to avoid it all- especially since allergic reactions can happen faster and become more severe with each exposure. So Mean Mommy is becoming Neurotic Mommy and surfing the web, looking for semi-decent sounding recipes that don't require $479 worth of groceries to fix one simple meal for a baby. Just as grocery costs are shooting way up, we're shopping the expensive aisles for odd-ball items. $12 for a gallon of rice milk as opposed to $3.50 for a gallon of regular milk. And if I have to drive to Anchorage to go to a specialty food place, add another $20-25 worth of gas to the total. Ay-yi-yi-yi-yi....

Oh- and did I mention that I have to eat this way, too, since I'm still nursing him? I could just quit- but he's the caboose baby and he's not quite ready (neither am I, to tell you the truth). Add to that the fact that breast milk helps develop the brain, boost immunity and prevent allergies, and you've got a mommy who's not gonna quit just yet. Hey, maybe it'll help me finally start losing some weight! No ice cream, no butter, no cheese, no chocolate... I'm on to something.

But even though I've spent all day lamenting about how hard this is going to be, and boo-hooing over not getting to eat that last bit of butterfinger ice cream in the freezer, and getting carried away visualizing resentful parents in his kindergarten class packing a peanutbutter sandwich for their kid in the next seat anyway (insert horrible visualization of my son gasping, ambulance being called, epi pens jabbing...), I'm ultimately very grateful. I'm grateful that each time this has happened, we've been observant and responsive- and so were his doctors. I'm grateful that we live close to a hospital and that even though the doctors thought it was something else, he happened to recieve the helpful treatment he needed as a coincidence. I'm thankful for our neighbors who played ambulance driver for our last visit when Paulo didn't have keys and I didn't have my cell phone. I'm thankful that a little voice (mommy instincts? the Holy Spirit?) whispered in my ear to hold off on immunizations for a while (two of them are incubated in egg and could have caused big problems). I'm thankful that with all of his odd-ball symptoms, nobody gave up on my child and figured I was just a hypochondriac. I'm grateful that we figured this out quickly. And most of all, I'm thankful that Jacob is okay- he's happy and healthy and thriving, and he'll rise up to the challenge of living with this little quirk. And because I love him- so will his mommy.

Art Appreciation 101

You all know I love art. I love to paint, to draw, to throw pots (duck!), to scrapbook, to decorate cakes and rooms and all sorts of things. I just love to create something and leave my mark and one of my biggest pet peeves is when someone tries to change what I've done. It's not that I believe I'm such a wonderful artist that my stuff is perfect. Not at all- it's that when someone changes what you've done it says that your ideas or view of the world is not as significant as theirs. I'm viciously protective of my kids' opportunities to create what's in their own little hearts. There is nothing so irritating to me as to watch another adult "edit" a child's attempt at creating something wonderful. Let them make a mess! Mixing the paint together doesn't just "make brown muck," it is what teaches them to experiment and to learn how colors mix and blend and change hues. Piling on "too many" bits of this and that helps them to learn how to leave exposed what they want someone to see. The most important part of creating art is the process, not the finished product. Color outside the lines, by all means. Why does a tree have to be a green triangle and a sun have to be a yellow circle with straight perpendicular lines all around? How kids really see the world and the interesting ways they find to express it is so amazing when we pull back and observe.

I wish I had more time and energy to really delve into creating artwork, but for now I steal little pieces of time to satisfy that urge to make something from nothing, and I try to facilitate those opportunities for my kids to have some creative fun. And I spend a lot of time getting inspired and enjoying other artists work. One of my favorite paintings is The Kiss, by Gustav Klimt. Why do I love it? First of all, because it is romantic and reminds me of my hubby. But also for its technical skill, rich colors, interesting textures and mosaic style, and the emotion that is represented. Klimt, during the art nouveau period of the early 1900s, was known for incorporating symbolism into his paintings. Here is a great summary of what the artist represented in this painting:

"The Kiss is a fascinating icon of the loss of self that lovers experience. Only the faces and hands of this couple are visible; all the rest is great swirl of gold, studded with colored rectangles as if to express visually the emotional and physical explosion of erotic love. (Nicolas Pioch)"

Can you imagine how this piece would lose its meaning if someone were to have edited Klimt's ideas for him... "No, no. It's too gaudy, you need to tone it down a little. It's out of proportion. You need more detail in the background. Make their figures more defined- it just looks like a big blob. Maybe you shouldn't even paint a picture of two lovers- that's not proper! Put them in separate beds!" It might be a great realistic/photographic representation of two people lying side by side- but it wouldn't carry the same symbolic strength and emotion as Klimt's original idea.

It is said that art is a means of personal expression. The next time you see a work of art that you enjoy, stop and ponder what it is that draws you to the piece. Then look a little deeper, and maybe you'll find something else the artist intended for you to see. Or maybe you'll find your own meaning! And give your kiddos a chance to express themselves without being "edited" down. Let them wow you with their quirky or moody or whistful or frightening or joyful style- who knows, you may have a future Master painter on training wheels.

Mrs. Brown Thumbs

I'm at it again- attempting to grow something other than giant babies. My first attempt, two years ago, was summed up as a "learning experience." Let's just say that being pregnant doesn't mesh well with gardening duties. I spent more time snoozing on the couch or stuffing my face with graham crackers and chocolate milk than I did actually watering the garden or pulling weeds. I ended up with itty bitty 2" baby broccoli and pencil thin carrots and super spicy-hot radishes that had worms in them (we dubbed them "mexican jumping worms" because they jumped out of the radishes when we sliced them- but they were apparently rootworms). Ironically, the baby ended up 10 lb. 8 oz. Maybe I should have fertilized the garden with chocolate milk and graham cracker crumbs (and macaroni and cheese, and pizza, and coco puffs, and ice cream, and spaghetti, and cookies.)

Then last year it sounded so much more appealing to grow weeds than to even attempt to try a vegetable garden with a newborn, a toddler, a preschooler, a husband, a house to clean, bills to pay, and a tired rear end to plop on the couch (when it got the chance). So my "gardening" last summer consisted of swiping rhubarb and chives from my neighbor's back yard (Tammi: "I have chives?") The boys had fun for a full year, running their Tonka trucks through the weeds and creating roads and rivers in the "mud pit." It made for a lovely time of tilling for Paulo this last month. But my hero tilled it all up for me- by hand, and it was ready to go by the official start of the growing season here in the valley- Memorial Day.

I planted what I've noticed grows well around here- spinach, lettuce, zucchini, carrots, onions (at least I think these might do okay), beets, dill, beans and snow peas. Paulo also bought a few starts- two giant cabbages and two zucchini (what faith he has in me). They're in the ground and being watered well, so we'll cross our brown thumbs and see what happens by the end of summer!

The kids are waiting anxiously for the plants to grow so they can help harvest. Isaiah saw the seed packets and said, "MOM! I didn't know you could grow SAUSAGES!!!" Here's the packet of sausage seeds:

I'm even attempting to try gardening according to the moon cycles... Always plant when the moon is full.

If all goes well, you, too, could be the lucky recipient of a whole bunch of dill and sausage plants.